


2am Sandwiches

by gray_zelle



Series: Love And Squalezkaban: Collection #1 [9]
Category: A Series Of Unfortunate Events (Netflix)
Genre: F/F, L&S, love & squaleszkaban, love & squalezkaban, squaleszkaban, squalezkaban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25727776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gray_zelle/pseuds/gray_zelle
Summary: When Esmé starts a new routine - wanting a sandwich after late nights on the town - Olivia struggles to adapt to it. Jacquelyn is also around since this *is* about Squaleszkaban and all.#1.09 of the Love & Squaleszkaban series!!
Relationships: Jacquelyn Scieszka/Esmé Squalor, Olivia Caliban/Esmé Squalor, Olivia Caliban/Jacquelyn Scieszka, Olivia Caliban/Jacquelyn Scieszka/Esmé Squalor
Series: Love And Squalezkaban: Collection #1 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592197
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	2am Sandwiches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LemonsandRosemary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonsandRosemary/gifts), [msariadneoliver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msariadneoliver/gifts), [kitsnicketts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsnicketts/gifts).



> heads up for:  
> \- a bit of mild coarse language (Jacquelyn says fuck again!)  
> \- alcohol content warning  
> \- mild sexual references (just like, the mention that Olivia and Jacquelyn are at it)
> 
> dedications also go to olivia-caliban and oliviacalibans on tumblr!!

At two o’clock in the morning, the hour that Olivia liked to be asleep, she was shoved awake. Quite hard, actually. For a moment, she thought something could be wrong - that Esmé could be upset, or that Jacquelyn was in pain. So, as the girlfriend she was, she made an effort to wake- 

That’s right. Esmé had been out drinking with her coworkers. 

Esmé shoved her again - harder, and bitchily, if shoves could be so. Olivia didn’t catch what she slurred, but rose anyway. 

“I’m starving,” Esmé whined as Olivia stretched. Jacquelyn, asleep, was facing the other way, so Olivia switched on the lamp on her right. The pale light revealed Esmé sitting there, pouting to get her way with her girlfriend, which  _ would  _ happen whether Olivia liked it or not. She said nothing. After Olivia grabbed her glasses, she found Esmé’s retina’s were bloodshot, though she didn’t seem blackout drunk. She’d made it up 667’s stairs, meaning she wasn’t  _ that  _ drunk-

“Darling, I’m  _ starving _ .” 

...And she wouldn’t be demanding. 

“What do you feel like?” Olivia asked; hoping it was actual hunger, since she wasn’t in the mood for the other kind. (That sounds horrendously corny I’m sorry.)

“A sandwich.” 

Thank goodness.

Trying to clear the haze around her mind, Olivia lead her girlfriend to the kitchen. Esmé’s heels clicked on the marble floor, echoing around the still Penthouse, kind of rattling Olivia’s brain. But helping to wake her. Upon arriving, she turned on the rangehood light, thinking that bright enough- 

Then she cried out when more light stung her eyes. Esmé did, too, and she fumbled for the kitchen light switch again.

“Bad idea,” Olivia heard her mutter, when she joined her. 

“Very bad idea. What do you want on your sandwich, sweet?” 

“Peanut butter and jam.” 

(Olivia knew what she meant.) “Please.” 

“ _ Please _ .” 

The peanut butter and jelly sandwich took forever to construct. Well, not exactly forever; Olivia being hardly awake made time slow right down for her.

Esmé leaned against the kitchen bench, the rangehood light’s golden glow catching her face. And the sparkles in her black dress: short, and 1920’s flapper-esque, with no sleeves and a neckline that plunged to her stomach. If it wasn’t 2am, and her mood permitted it, Olivia would have ripped the dress off her. (Better? Or no?)

She sure as hell did not, in the end. 

Instead, she picked up the sandwich plate, turning to Esmé. 

“What do you have there?”

Holding a glass with  _ Club Capricornia  _ lettered on one side, Esmé didn’t see the problem. “It was their Tropic Cocktail.” 

“Sweetheart, you can’t take drinks away from a bar. It’s illegal.”

“Consider it my latest evil act, then. Now give me my sandwich.  _ Please _ .” 

They took it to the kitchen’s breakfast bar, where the rangehood’s light didn’t entirely reach, but Olivia could see Esmé’s face, and that was what mattered. She watched her first down the water glass Olivia handed her, since one of them knew ways to dull hangovers. 

Then Esmé snacked on the sandwich; she treated it like the finest, Innest cuisine she’d had in an age. Only because of her sobriety level. Olivia appreciated it, anyway. 

“Was it a good night?” 

Esmé nodded. “Good enough. Capricornia’s not that In, but the others twisted my arm. I think it'll bruise; Maeve’s quite physically persuasive.”

Olivia asked to see her arm, giving it quick and gentle prods. Esmé didn’t react - only to the sandwich. 

“Darling, what did you put in this?” 

“Peanut butter, jelly, and love. Perhaps less than usual, so, sorry about that.” 

In Olivia’s defence, it was 2am (!). 

“You’re ridiculous,” Esmé teased, her smile a tad lazy with her state, but still loving.

“You like it, though, don’t you?” 

“It’s the best sandwich I’ve ever tasted. It needs to be In.” 

“ _ You’re  _ ridiculous,” Olivia teased. 

“What’s that thing you often say, about stones? And greenhouses?” 

“Glass houses.” 

“Close enough. Oh, do you want to know how we’re getting rid of The Bitch if she doesn’t dig her own grave?” 

Considering Goldfinch Financial’s Floor 6 employees, and their past schemes, this could be interesting. “How, sweetheart?” 

“She smokes. And we’re not allowed to smoke in the meeting rooms. So Eugene suggested we burn cigarettes in a meeting room, after she sees a client, then Sylvie will write a  _ strongly  _ worded letter, with my help, to Frenchie about it all. Sylvie is asthmatic; having someone with a weakness like that on hand is smashing, isn’t it?” 

“It is, yes,” Olivia said. (This was a  _ lot  _ to process at this hour.)

“So I, being  _ the  _ actress - though Maeve’s a close second and Eugene’s a drama queen - I being  _ the  _ actress will tell Frenchie a sobstory about-” she put on a fake whine - “poor Sylvie suffering an asthma attack in a meeting room. And since I’ve been working there longer, and Sylvie is a  _ perfect _ assistant, surely The Bitch will be out of our hair. And we’ll live happily ever after.” 

“I certainly hope you do, sweetheart.” 

Olivia was still a tad lost, she figured it had to be a good plan.

Esmé gave one of her wicked smiles, the rangehood and darkness capturing it perfectly. It looked so sinister, a good sinister, it almost made Olivia that different hungry. 

“We have fun at Goldfinch Financial.”

“That you do.” 

“Perhaps at the wrong peoples’ expense. Or, in this case, the right people. Oh well. Darling, may I have another sandwich, please?” 

Sneaking a look at the clock, Olivia said nothing. 

\---

Esmé was usually the first of the three to arrive home on weekdays, if her coworker Maeve dropped her off; in those instances, she would nap on the couch while waiting for her girlfriends. But two Fridays after the 2am sandwich instance, Olivia came home to just Jacquelyn - sitting on her kitchen stool, busy with an engine part. Her greeting was, “No idea where Sleeping Beauty is.”

Putting her handbag down, Olivia asked, “Have you heard from her?” 

“Nope. I think she’s still at work. Maybe they’ve finally gotten rid of the new woman they all hated.” 

Olivia knew that would be a cause for celebration. And for another night out - she just  _ knew _ . 

Looking up, Jacquelyn smirked. “Feel like making a 2am sandwich again?” 

Olivia heaved a sigh, shifting her own stool close to her girlfriend’s. That little venture had kept her out of sorts for most of that Saturday. Esmé, not even nursing a hangover, had remained oblivious. And Olivia couldn’t bring herself to tell her how much she’d rather not repeat the whole instance. It almost felt wrong to. 

“I suppose.” 

“You can tell her no, babe. I doubt she’ll get upset - unless she’s smashed and moody.” 

Olivia gave an  _ mmm, _ wrapping her arms around Jacquelyn. The Esmé she would encounter at 2am, if she and her Floor 6 coworkers had too much fun, would be… Okay, fine. Difficult. A nicer way to put this was mouthy and slutty (said in  _ the  _ best most loving way possible thank you!!). 

So Olivia began to dread the night ahead - just as Esmé finally arrived home.

The Penthouse’s front doors hit the walls with a deafening  _ bang _ , and before they knew it, Olivia and Jacquelyn were trapped in a tight and honestly awkward embrace. Jacquelyn almost fell off her stool. 

“WE DID IT!” 

“We’re right here, babe,” Jacquelyn calmly reminded her.

“I can’t help it, darlings! We got rid of The Bitch! Our plan went off perfectly, it was absolute  _ art _ ; I don’t think we could do something  _ that  _ flawlessly again!” 

“Congratulations, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, great job, babe.” When Esmé released her girlfriends, and strode off and out of earshot, Jacquelyn hissed, “What was the problem with the new woman?” 

“No idea.” 

Olivia hated thinking this, but knowing Esmé and her coworkers, it could’ve been the tiniest, pettiest thing. It could quite literally have been that The Bit- woman had begun working on Floor 6. But the whole thing was over, now, and Olivia and Jacquelyn could do nothing - just say, “Oh, well.” 

Esmé returned all of two minutes later: her hair in a high ponytail, paired with a gold jumpsuit with rhinestones around its high neck. (Different from her Valentine’s Night jumpsuit, as you might’ve guessed, with Esmé being Esmé.)

“We’re going out to celebrate,” was her explanation. Kissing her girlfriends’ cheeks, she added, “I’ll be back later.” 

_ How  _ much later kept Olivia wondering for half the night. Jacquelyn tried to distract her with pizza, some fooling around in bed, and then reading half clothed until they fell asleep that way. The evening was fun, yes, but Olivia found herself wondering anyway.

Then 2am came out of nowhere.

Esmé shoved her again, her demand for a sandwich adamant. And she seemed worse than last time. 

Olivia sat up, winced when Jacquelyn slid off her, then let Esmé lead her to the kitchen. Esmé took to the breakfast bar, where mounting her stool proved challenging.

“What kind of sandwich, Esmé?”

“Peanut butter and strawberry jam.” 

That could be arranged - as soon as Olivia shrugged off this damn exhaustion. She didn’t even ask Esmé to say please. 

With the sandwich half done, Olivia opened the fridge door. Production then stopped. Try as she might, the time and tiredness hid the strawberry jelly from her. Esmé said she would find it, but fell off her stool. Had she not gotten up, muttering several curses, Olivia would’ve returned to bed.

She then sighed, “There’s no strawberry jelly. Or any flavour of jelly.” 

“ _ No. _ ” 

“There isn’t. I’m sorry.”

And if Esmé expected her to find more jelly at this hour, Olivia would be threatening her with a (butter) knife. 

Esmé gracelessly dropped her head in her hands, her groan sounding more like a moan. “I’ve been looking forward to this since my third drink.” 

“How many did you have?” 

“Not enough.” 

“How about some whole strawberries, instead?” Olivia asked - amazed she’d come up with that, and not just with the time.

“I want jam.” 

And Olivia wanted to sleep. 

“Can I get you something else, instead?” 

Esmé, ignoring her, had pulled some grapes from the bar’s fruit bowl. Giving them a malicious glare, she began squishing them between her fingers. 

Two minutes later, she asked, “What’s that?” 

_ That  _ was Olivia’s mortar and pestle. She tossed a handful, no, two handfuls of strawberries into the mortar, before utilising her slight irritation. Esmé watched as she crushed and squished, squished and crushed, reducing the strawberries to practically nothing. 

When her frustration waned, Olivia stopped. By then, the strawberries had no shape. Only redness, and a smooth jelly-like texture. 

“There. Homemade Slapdash 2am Jelly.” Spreading it over the sandwich, Olivia added, “Take it or leave it.”

Esmé took it, nose turned up slightly. Apparently this sandwich wasn’t as good as the first one.

It was that late, Olivia found she couldn’t care. 

\---

Olivia never did fall asleep after making that sandwich. Though she wanted to slip into dreamland, she quite literally  _ couldn’t _ . Her girlfriends didn’t help in the slightest; Jacquelyn tossed and turned, and Esmé, drunker than she'd thought, snored  _ right  _ in her ear. 

She spent that night looking to the ceiling, movement coming from her left, snores coming from her right. 

At 7:30, that Saturday morning, she closed her eyes. 

The telephone rang. 

Olivia reached over Jacquelyn, still out to it, and snapped, “ _ Yes _ ?” 

Her Bookall Library coworker Tildie hesitated. “Sorry, Olivia; we need you to come in today. For the entire day.” 

Olivia wanted to scream. 

That entire day was much too taxing. Bookall Library had twice the usual amount of Saturday visitors, and they kept Olivia on her toes, quickly wearing her out. In the end, not a single thing went right for her.

When she arrived home, after Jacques Snicket gave her a ride, she’d given herself two options for the evening: scream and sleep, or cry and sleep. Both sounded too good to choose between, which made her want to scream and cry even more. Not to mention finally  _ sleep. _

Jacquelyn, on the couch, hadn’t expected Olivia to awkwardly drop into her arms. Fixing up her girlfriend’s glasses, she asked, “You okay, babe?”

“I can’t do it,” Olivia sighed. “I can’t make another damn 2am Sandwich.”

Jacquelyn gave a gentle frown; she undid Olivia’s hair, smoothing back her bangs. 

“Then don’t do it, baby. It’s as simple as that. Make Esmé make her own 2am Sandwich.”

“What if she burns the Penthouse down unsupervised?” 

“It’s a sandwich.”

“And it’s Esmé.” 

And not just Esmé on her own.  _ Drunk  _ Esmé.

Right at that moment, Esmé entered the living room - wearing a red top and matching pants, and boots that  _ thunked  _ on the Penthouse’s floors. 

Making Olivia’s stomach flip. 

“Where are you going?” Jacquelyn asked, now playing with Olivia’s hair. 

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? Maeve had clients to see today and couldn’t get properly smashed last night. So we’re going out again.” 

Olivia surprised herself when she didn’t scream.

“So I’ll see you both later-” 

“How much later?” Olivia managed to ask, sitting up straight.

“Not too late. Unless the others want to get absolutely wild.”

Esmé then crossed the floor to kiss them goodbye. Maybe Olivia’s tired eyes, or pale face, grabbed her attention, making her gently frown at her girlfriend. Not aggressively, not at all - Olivia saw concern flicker in her eyes momentarily.

“What’s wrong, darling?” 

Jacquelyn was no doubt giving her a look meaning,  _ Tell her _ . Olivia wasn’t sure. Blotches were popping over her vision.

“Darling?” 

“Nothing.” 

Not convinced, but apparently running late, Esmé kissed her again, telling her to feel better soon. 

Olivia doubted she would. 

When she left, Olivia heaved a sigh, then felt weakness clock her in the head. She muttered an “I can’t do it,” before Jacquelyn gripped her arms, gently shushing her. 

“I’ll handle it, baby,” she murmured. “What do you want for dinner?” 

All poor Olivia could think of was 2am Sandwiches. 

After some soup, and a warm bathtub in which Jacquelyn sat with her, Olivia closed her eyes. 

It felt like mere seconds had passed when she opened them again - at yet  _ another  _ shove. And she almost did scream. 

“Darling-” 

“Here, Esmé, I’ll get it for you,” Olivia heard Jacquelyn murmur, and she got up. It was hard not to heave a sigh of relief. 

Esmé muttered something before being shushed; Olivia heard them both leave. 

The bedroom door was left wide open, letting her hear everything. She tried to fall asleep again, to no avail, so she listened while wanting to cry in frustration.

“What kind of sandwich d’you want, babe?” 

“The usual. Peanut butter and jam.” 

“We don’t have jam.” 

“Yes, we do. Americans and Canadians call it something different, but I’m so licked I can’t think of the name.” 

Then came general sandwich-making noises, before Jacquelyn got to the fridge. Things moved around. 

“We have raspberry or plum jelly. You want jelly, right?” 

“ _ Strawberry  _ jam,” Esmé grumbled.

“We have those and that’s it. I knew we needed jelly when I shopped today, but didn’t know what you wanted exactly, sorry.”

“Well, get Olivia’s crusher thing and make some slapdash jam, or whatever she called it.” 

Olivia almost called out, “ _ Please _ .” 

“Esmé. It’s 2am.” 

“And I want a 2am Sandwich,” Esmé stated. Quite tartly. “I’ve wanted one since before I left home tonight.” 

“Good for you. But I’m not making you an elaborate-as-fuck sandwich at two in the morning. So you can have any of the jellies in the fridge, go without, or crush strawberries yourself. And before you ask, no, Olivia is  _ not  _ making you a sandwich.”

Olivia couldn’t help but think,  _ Drat.  _

Silence fell over the whole Penthouse. It lasted too long. Olivia felt a weight manifesting in her stomach, and as time passed, it only strengthened. 

Then Esmé snapped, “Where did all  _ that  _ come from?” 

Jacquelyn hesitated, then apologised. She asked Esmé what she wanted to do with no emotion at all.

Olivia didn’t hear what conclusion Esmé came to - her girlfriends spoke too softly after that. And soon, she fell asleep again. 

\---

Olivia didn’t know what time it was when she woke. She felt a little refreshed, though decided reading in bed all day was a good idea. 

As long as she had someone to read with. 

Waking further, she realised she was in the Built Bed alone; apparently it was 11am. It wasn’t like her to sleep in on a Sunday. A disoriented feeling came to her, which she eventually shook off while getting up.

The Penthouse was still, apart from the sound of the washing machine at work. Someone’s footsteps were echoing around a main room; perhaps Jacquelyn was cleaning.

Olivia found Esmé in the kitchen, reading a magazine at the breakfast bar - just a tad hungover, if anything. In front of Olivia’s stool sat an untouched plate. 

Olivia laughed a little.

“Weren’t you hungry in the end?” she joked, sitting beside her girlfriend.

Esmé tossed the magazine to the floor, nice and casually. “No, darling, that’s for you.” 

Olivia took her eyes off Esmé, even when she didn’t want to. She looked to the (11am) sandwich, where peanut butter and something strawberry red was oozing between the crusts. 

“I made it. As an apology offering.” Giving a kind of nervous smile, Esmé added, “Last night I realised I’ve been a bit of a dick, lately.” 

“Did Jacquelyn tell you off?” 

“...I realised before that. Either way, I’ve been horrible to you, darling - demanding sandwiches at ridiculous hours, so often we gave them a name. And I’m sorry. I wish I’d realised  _ much  _ sooner.”

“So this is to make up for it?” 

Olivia asked that as gently as possible. Because she couldn’t be entirely mad at Esmé. It’d been her fault, as well, for not being truthful about the whole ordeal. 

“Yes, it is. But this isn’t  _ it _ , of course; giving you only this would be pathetic, wouldn’t it? So I’m pampering you all day. This is just breakfast.” 

Breakfast Olivia began to eat; it wasn’t long before she realised what the red something was. 

“Are there strawberries in this?” 

“I used your crusher thing; oh, I hope you don’t mind that I used your crusher thing.” 

“It’s fine, sweetheart. You can use it whenever you want.” 

“Thank you. But yes. I crushed them up myself.” Esmé’s proud smile then became somewhat shy. “Is it alright?” 

“Oh, it’s more than alright. It’s great!” After Esmé relaxed, Olivia added, “I can tell you used three different fillings.” 

“Peanut butter, Homemade Slapdash Jam, and love? I did.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“That’s a lot, coming from you.” 

“I know. But thank you, Esmé.” 

“You’re welcome, darling. And I’m sorry.” 

“Apology accepted.” 

Olivia shifted closer, resting her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder, where she heaved a content sigh. The day ahead would be  _ perfect -  _ she was sure of it. Both because Esmé knew how to pamper, and because they would be together. Cheesy  _ and  _ ridiculous, yes, but it was the truth. 

“Thank you, darling,” Esmé soon murmured. Though Olivia didn’t know what she was thankful for, she whispered a “You’re welcome.” 

Then Olivia had quite the interesting thought; a question she couldn’t leave unanswered. 

“You didn’t make this sandwich at 2am, did you?!”


End file.
